


purple lisianthus

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [111]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Internal Monologue, Love Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Love, this is painfully wordy for what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: in eden, aziraphale attempts to make gabriel understand. gabriel does - just not in the way he'd wanted
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [111]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	purple lisianthus

**Author's Note:**

> the destiel confession happened last week and i was thrown into the arms of aziraphale awkwardly confessing to gabriel bc thats how my brain works. at least he doesn't have to go to super mega hell? also rip to straight dudebro gabriel in this i did him a major disservice

“the garden’s gorgeous this time of night.” aziraphale smiles gently, softly, his eyes glimmering faintly with the budding wetness he can’t quite store away. he’s still mourning, missing the humans, missing everything he’s lost. he could have tried harder, been a little bit better - though he was already giving so _much,_ it still wasn't enough. never enough, he’s _never_ enough, and that's a thought he’s got to blink away with the rest of his tears. 

“it is,” gabriel mutters, though he sounds so disinterested. his eyes don't twinkle at the beauty, nothing soft, warm, unawakened in him stirs to blossom outwards. his thin mouth is still curved in that straight, flat frown, the one aziraphale has grown so accustomed to. he isn't enjoying this nearly as much as aziraphale is. it's evident, because gabriel is _trying_ to make it so. dropping hints, leaving little bits of evidence in his furled hands and bruised knuckles, hoping aziraphale will catch on and leave him alone. aziraphale doesn't. he rather purposely pushes all that aside, in fact, to focus on the titular want that's gnawing eagerly in his chest. a broken, if faintly charming heat, one that cracks him open from the inside out. it has aziraphale aching, _aching,_ that fearful longing is so intense. 

his lip quivers when he tries to talk, his heavy tongue betrays him. his hands - smaller than gabriel’s, he can't help noting - tremble as they reach out and touch. he rests his hand atop gabriel’s own, and doesn't dare the presumption of curving his fingers around it just yet. if gabriel wants his hand to be held, he’ll make that very clear. if he doesn't, well . . .

aziraphale can't linger on the image of a _doesn't_ when it comes to gabriel. 

“i wanted - well, i’ve been wanting, er, to - uhm, i’d like to tell you something.” his chest tightens on a thick, impeccably tied knot, squeezing fiercely with every word. the strings pull taut, and he can hardly catch his breath when gabriel says, “alright, tell me,” in that cold, careless tone. he’s only giving aziraphale the time of day because he has to - but maybe, _maybe_ there's something more to it. a longing, so strong that it aches within him too. that it embarrasses him, even someone so great as he must be embarrassed every now and then. and that must be why he avoids aziraphale so thoroughly, he can't stand the ache without bandage to soothe it over. this can be his bandage, his healing, his balm to the blistering wound. good god, aziraphale hopes gabriel is as wounded as he is, he knows there's a word for this sort of hurt, he knows the almighty whispered it faintly throughout the black sky when adam and eve took their first steps together. he’s just too overwhelmed to recall. he wants it, he _wants_ it.

“i think i - i _know_ i - something inside me hurts when you're nearby, it - it’s burning. but the burn only worsens when you're nowhere close to me either. i know i’m - “

and he sees the bitterroot spike of gabriel's eyes, the shrapnel they plunge into his chest, deep, deep, even deeper yet, but he can't stop himself from saying it. not now, even if it's only for himself. (perhaps it always has been.)

“i’m in love with you.” he remembers, too late.

gabriel stands, leaving aziraphale cold on the ground, entirely beneath him. he smiles, a joyless, vacant smile, cool and crisp as an abandoned room still bearing family heirlooms, and only says, “you shouldn't,” before snapping away in a rush of lightning.

aziraphale curls in on himself, rocking softly, calmed by the cruel tune of thunder crashing in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> if u want comfort lets just imagine crowley came all snaked up and nuzzled up to him to make him feel better. thats officially canon of this fic now


End file.
